


The Fine Line

by nat_scribbles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Animal Death, Bullying, Disturbing Themes, Harm to Animals, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Imaginary Torture, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potterlock, Rating May Change, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Weird Dreams are Weird OK
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:58:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nat_scribbles/pseuds/nat_scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of two boys who walk the fine line between insanity and genius, and erase it from time to time.</p><p>"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity." -Edgar Allan Poe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided to write something every day as a writing excercise.  
> I asked on tumblr from prompts and the first one was for MorMor potterlock.
> 
> There are some disturbing elements int his story (and there are more to come). Please read the tags.
> 
> English isn't my first language and this has not been beta'd or brit-picked. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
> 
> As always, characters aren't mine, I'm just having fun with them.

For all he is, for all he is going to be, the world doesn’t shiver when he is born on a hot and humid summer afternoon in Dublin. But his mother does. She shudders, a chill running down her spine and spikes of cold settling in her heart when she looks into her son’s eyes. They are too big for his tiny, wrinkled face, red and blotchy even if he hasn’t cried -no, he is quiet, unobtrusive. His eyes are not newborn blue. They are dark as he looks around the room, taking it all in, too sharp for someone who is only a few hours old. She looks into his eyes as she feeds him, and she feels as if he were sucking the life out of her, like a parasite, and wonders what exactly she has brought to the world.

***

She watches him from the kitchen window. He is sitting cross-legged on a blanket, reading. The collar of his white shirt sits perfectly on top of his grey jumper, and his neatly combed dark hair shines in the sun. She can’t help but think that five-year old boys should be messy, with torn jeans and dirty faces.

Her son looks up at her, his sickly pale face blank for a moment, and then smiles at her.

She smiles back, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

***

The first time she finds a dead bird in his room, suspended in thin air, she decides to never go in there again.

He is seven years old.

***

“I love you, Mummy.”

She grips the cup of tea tighter, clutching it in her hands, hoping it will warm her up somewhat.

It doesn’t.

She doesn’t say anything back.

***

As he grows up, he comes home with bruises on his skin and mud on his clothes more and more often.

The first time, the neighbours’ cat goes missing. It is found dead, sliced up, on top of a very high tree. No one knows how it could have gotten there.

The second time all the flowers in the garden are dead in the morning.

By the third time she has learned to look away and not say anything as cockroaches suddenly infest the house two blocks down.

***

When the letter arrives, she knows it’s out of her hands. She should be relieved that he will be away for months, and perhaps part of her is, but there is nothing more terrifying to her than the thought of her son knowing how to use magic.


	2. Carl Powers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to write something every day as a writing excercise.  
> I asked on tumblr from prompts and the first one was for MorMor potterlock.
> 
> There are some disturbing elements int his story (and there are more to come). Please read the tags.
> 
> English isn't my first language and this has not been beta'd or brit-picked. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
> 
> As always, characters aren't mine, I'm just having fun with them.

“Jim? Can I… uh… can I ask you a favour? They said that you could help me and... yeah...”

“Of course. But you will owe me.”

***

It begins with homework. He’s smart. More than smart. He’s a fucking genius. And all the teachers like him. Well, all except Trelawney, but who listens to that nutter’s ramblings and predictions anyway? Not that he takes her class. No, James Moriarty believes in making his own fate.

Over time homework turns into other favours. Small things, mind, like stealing this or that from the potions cupboard, or getting this or that book from a certain section of the library.

He knows the school as well as someone that has been living in it for several decades instead of three years. It still hides secrets from him, but he is determined to discover them all. And if he doesn’t, he is determined to know someone who has. And have that someone owe him a favour. Or several.

So he weaves his net. Slowly, methodically. No-one stands in his way, not for long, at least. They know better. Or at least they usually do.

Because Jim is getting tired of Carl Powers and his laughing, and he is going to stop him.

***

He is good at staying silent. People come to him with secrets to keep. They all have their price, of course, but no-one needs to know that.

Yes, Jim is so very good at staying silent when he wants to.

“Don’t you think that’s enough, Carl? I... I think he gets it.”

Carl laughs. Again. That fucking hideous laugh. It’s oud, with a shrill edge to it. It craves adoration and attention. It makes a few of the other boys laugh nervously as well, unsure of whether it is the right thing to do or not, as if they had never heard a joke before.

It’s all absolutely revolting. It makes Jim want to crawl out of his skin.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure the little poof has learnt his lesson yet.” Carl says before punching him again.

Jim breathes slowly, his face not betraying any emotions or pain. He is being held up between two other fifth years as Powers uses him as a punch bag. So much for the supposedly golden heart Gryffindors own.

“See? He won’t even complain. I bet he gets off on this. _Freak._ ”

Another blow, this time to his ribs. It makes Jim want to laugh. If only his bullies would think of more original ways to insult him. Honestly, he has heard that one so many times.

And he knows better too.

It’s not him that is getting off on this encounter. He can see the outline of Carl’s half hard cock in his uniform trousers. He can almost smell his arousal. He knows there is nothing Powers would rather do than push him onto his knees and ram his cock into his mouth or fuck him hard from behind.

It gives Jim power, and Carl knows it. It scares him, that his friends will find out he is a ‘poof’. So he beats him periodically, calls him names, shoves him when they meet in the corridors. He is completely oblivious to the horrified stares of those around them, of those who know better than to mess with James Moriarty. It’s all right. The situation will be taken care of soon enough.

Carl Powers and his friends leave after a few kicks while he is lying on the floor for good measure. He stays there, curled up and panting silently.

His body throbs with pain.

He feels alive.

***

In the end, it’s easy.

He watches as Carl Powers falls from his broom, his face a blank mask. He hears someone stop the fall, but it’s too late for the Gryffindor.

Screams and cries fill the quidditch pitch. People stand up from their seats: some run towards the field, others lean forward to see better, a few even faint.

The mess is beautiful, really. It’s so close to the mayhem inside his head. It even distracts him for a moment.

But it was all so easy.

Carl Powers’ laughing has been stopped, and he is bored again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to leave a suggestion or prompt, my tumblr is http://sherlockintheshire.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. They make me go all goey inside, like a delicious brownie.


	3. Basher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to write something every day as a writing excercise.  
> I asked on tumblr from prompts and the first one was for MorMor potterlock.
> 
> There are some disturbing elements int his story (and there are more to come). Please read the tags.
> 
> English isn't my first language and this has not been beta'd or brit-picked. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
> 
> As always, characters aren't mine, I'm just having fun with them.

“It was you.”

It’s not a question. Jim looks up and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does.

The other boy shivers. Then steels himself.

“Don’t blame you. Prick had it fucking coming.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

***

He never gets his hands dirty, not anymore. He did the first year. At first he had no choice, then it was for the kicks. That was short-lived. He doesn’t get caught. Ever.

So now he has minions. People that are in so much debt to him that they will do whatever he wants, people that fear him so much that they will do what he demands with no questions asked. But it’s not enough. He wants to expand.

Oh yes, he wants to own the world.

Some day. As for now, he wants to own the school. He practically does already.

But he needs more helping hands.

So he hires.

Everyone wants something, and he can get anything. Anyone.

***

It’s a surprise. He hadn't expected someone else to figure it out. Sherlock Holmes, that genius kid in first year, said something was wrong, but he didn't deduce it was Jim.

Holmes is noisy, careless, draws far too much attention to himself. Jim has no doubt their minds are very much alike and he cannot wait for him to grow up and play games with him. Such fun games.

Oh yes, he can tell he is going to be gorgeous too.

But he will wait. He does wait. That is the difference between them. Jim doesn’t show off, he is patient and quiet and you don’t know he has bitten you until you’re dying already.

But oh, _oh_ , someone else has figured it out.

Isn’t it just delightful?

***

They are alone and the other boy is much bigger than him.

It makes Jim shiver in anticipation. Of what, he is not sure of.

The silence makes the other boy uncomfortable and he shifts his way from foot to foot. Then he thrusts his hand forward.

“Sebastian Moran.”

His voice is rough, already broken and with an Irish lilt so similar to his own, and his hands are calloused: broomstick during the school year, hard work during the summer.

Jim shakes it, a shark-like grin spreading through his face.

***

He wants money, of course. It is written and there to be read by all like an open book: used and torn robes, used and torn uniform, used and torn books.

So Jim gives him money, muggle and magical, as negotiated.

Of course he also knows that Sebastian's father will spend it all on alcohol, that his mother won’t see a penny, but she is dead anyway so what does it matter.

Moran still asks for the muggle money.

He doesn’t ask questions, which is convenient, and he is very good at his job, which is even more convenient.

It’s not that he doesn’t have any morals. He just doesn’t share the same as the rest of the world –but then again, neither does Jim. He knows that his Basher is loyal to him, touchingly so, and that is enough.

Hufflepuff definitely suits him.

***

“Sebby, dear?”

That earns him a glare.

Sebastian beats up the shivering Ravenclaw girl in front of him, hitting where the clothes will hide it. It’s crude, brutal, but effective.

That’s another good thing about his Basher, he doesn’t care about genders.

The Ravenclaw girl is crying, snot running from her puffy, red nose. Jim wants to roll his eyes. Honestly, if they would just carry out their tasks they wouldn’t have to do this. It’s their fault, really, they knew what they were getting into, who they were dealing with, what the consequences were.

“If you call me that again, I’ll feckin’ kill ya.” Sebastian says when they are done, his knuckles swollen.

Jim smiles. He so loves teasing his Basher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to leave a suggestion or prompt, my tumblr is http://sherlockintheshire.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. They make me go all warm and fuzzy inside, like when you drink hot chocolate.


	4. Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me so long to post this chapter. It was a dificult one to write and uni has started again, so I have less time.
> 
> Please read the tags carefully for triggers because there are some disturbing elements in this. Also there is a POV change from the first section to the rest.
> 
> English isn't my first language and this is not beta'd, so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> As always, the characters aren't mine. I'm just having fun with them.

Sometimes Jim is just not.

He’s not Jim or James or Moriarty. He’s not nothing either. He just _isn’t_.

Those days he feels eerily calm. He sleeps, eats, walks. He functions just fine. But it’s all automatic, because he is not.

He knows Sebastian can tell. He is aware of the worried glances, of how his Basher will stand closer to him and glare at everyone who so much as looks at him. How he gently steers him when they walk down the corridors, a hand on his elbow. Some part of Jim’s brain wonders at how those hands, those big, strong hands that have beaten up so many people, can touch him and hold him as if he were the finest china. As if he were something to be treasured. Something precious. Something that could be broken.

Jim is not sure whether he is broken already, but if anyone could break him, it would be Seb.

Of course that sentimental drivel is promptly removed. He can’t afford to think like that.

Coming down from that state of detachment is always dangerous. He comes back crashing, his brain collapsing on itself. It’s noisy and painful and ugly.

Jim never feels more like dying than when he comes back.

***

Sebastian isn’t an idiot, despite what Jim may think. He can see right through his bullshit. Don’t get him wrong, he likes working for him. Sure, the beating up people gets a bit old, but the pay is good and it keeps him busy. Besides, when Jim isn’t terrifying, he is pretty damned cute.

He knows Jim likes him. He is the only one who challenges him. It’s not that he isn’t afraid –he knows how fucking scary his boss can be-, it’s that he doesn’t have anything to lose. Whatever money he makes he splits in two: for his father and for himself. He knows his father will drink it all up or gamble it away, but that’s his problem. The fucker kept him alive and fed when his mother left the picture and he isn’t actually a bad man. So he gives him money for the booze. At least he’s happy that way.

Sebastian isn’t just working for Jim, oh no, he is _learning_ from him as well. Because the kid is a fucking genius and he is not so bad himself. He reckons he could beat dear little Jimmy at Stratego anytime. See, the problem with his boss is that he always wants everything to be so god damned clever, and sometimes it doesn’t have to be. Efficiency comes before elegance. 

Sebastian learnt that long ago.

***

Jim is in one of his weird moods. He’s gone all... floaty and shit. Sebastian has to admit it scares him a bit. Last time it went on for three days. Now it’s been a week and counting.

Sebastian has to take him to his classes, all but put food in his plate, and most importantly keep running the business smoothly without anyone noticing anything is off. There will be hell to pay afterwards if he doesn’t.

Besides, he is the only one Jim trusts enough to do it. It’s quite flattering, really, if a pain in the arse.

What scares Sebastian is what comes afterwards though. Jim turns aggressive or closes up completely. He practically vibrates with manic energy, stops eating or sleeping. But Sebastian knows that whatever is in Jim’s head is much worse than anything he can see from the outside.

He really should not have been surprised to find the fourth year sitting on the bathroom floor, his trousers pushed down to his knees, his thighs covered in bloody lines.

“Bloody hell, Jim, you fucking idiot.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can swallow them up. Just as well, Jim really is being a fucking idiot.

The dark haired boy looks up at him, razor blade in his hand, and smiles. Actually fucking smiles like a fucking angel, as if nothing were wrong in the fucking picture.

“Close the door, Sebby. Wouldn’t want anyone to get in.” He says sweetly.

And Sebastian actually closes the door. Fuck.

Jim’s smiled widens approvingly and then he goes back to work, slicing another line with a  quick movement of his hand. It takes a moment or the blood to come out, small pearls of crimson liquid forming along the cut before spilling over, smudging the skin with red.

Sebastian crosses the distance between them with angry strides and crouches next to Jim. Then he slaps him. Hard.

It seems as if time has frozen over. The silence after the sharp sound rings in his ears, the only thing he can hear is his own pulse. After a moment, he sees Jim slowly raise his free hand to his turned face. He touches his lip gingerly. His fingers come out stained with blood.

Shit.

Sebastian swallows drily, but what is done is done. He won’t apologise. He fucking will not say he is sorry because Jim fucking had it coming.

The Slytherin puts the razor blade back inside a small bag and puts it aside. Then he turns towards Sebastian.

“Hit me again.”

Sebastian feels as if the air has been knocked out of him. He can’t have heard right. No, he totally can. He knows he has. And he knows that the desperation he hears beneath the cold, neutral tone is real. So he hits him again. This time it’s a punch to the stomach.

Jim whimpers, his body curling up slightly. He rests one hand on the floor, panting, and shifts so he is facing Sebastian. Some of the cuts on his thighs open and start bleeding again. Sebastian wants to tell him to stop, to clean them up. Instead he grabs a fistful of Jim’s shirt and shakes him.

“You bastard. You bloody bastard.” He says through clenched teeth.

Jim is pliant in his hands, like a rag doll. And then he starts laughing, giggling.

“What?” Sebastian asks, shaking Jim again when he gets no answer. “What is it?”

Jim looks up, his eyes wet and his smile crooked and _wrong_

 “That’s... surprisingly accurate.” He chuckles. “ _Bloody bastard..._ Good one, Sebby.”

Sebastian wants to scream. He slaps him again, not letting go of his shirt, because it’s not fucking funny god damn it. It really isn’t.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Jim.” He says, getting angrier by the minute. He wants to fucking strangle the younger boy.

Jim’s eyes light up, his smile widening. The stretch makes the cut on his lower lip bleed and a pink tongue darts out to taste it.

“ _Make me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to leave a suggestion or prompt, my tumblr is http://sherlockintheshire.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. They make me go all warm and fuzzy inside, like a nice cup of tea in front of the fireplace on a rainy day.


	5. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! An update! And a different note than the ones before!
> 
> To smut or not to smut, that was the question. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I had like a thousand different plot lines and needed to narrow it down. Aso I hated everything I wrote, so I started this chapter like 10 times (okay, 12, but shh). I'm rambling, aren't I? (who gave me caffeine and sugar? whose idea was this??)
> 
> But hey, no new trigger warnings! Yay! No don't worry, this still isn't a happy story. I just decided not to make it more fucked up for this chapter. I think. I hope there are no accidental triggers in it (if there are message me so I can tag them).
> 
> ALSO HAPPY ANNOUNCEMENTS AT THE END NOTES OKAY don't be a butt and read them.  
> eheheh butts.  
> No, seriously.

Time freezes all over again and Seb wants to laugh because this is ridiculous, it really is, his usually perfect time perception is all fucked up, has been since he entered the bathroom. He can’t tell how long they spend there, him panting with hot rage and fear and want and hurt, Jim panting with pained breaths and slightly wheezing sounds and a manic glint in his wet, dark eyes. And in those moments –seconds? minutes?– Seb is torn between beating the shit out of Jim and kissing his breath away. Because Jim knows, he must surely know, because who the fuck says ‘make me’, says fucking _make me_ in that fucking _voice_ looking up with doe eyes that have nothing innocent in them and Seb wants, he _wants_ , but he doesn’t because nothing is ever so simple with Jim.

So he beats the shit out of him.

The punches come one after the other, where the clothes will hide them more out of habit than conscious thought because Seb lets the rage take him, the anger and the pain, and he lets them guide his fists, but not his legs or feet, no, he doesn’t think he can stand up to kick Jim, he can’t.

So they stay there, the Hufflepuff on his knees hunched over the Slytherin as the skin in his knuckles breaks until he is empty and hollow inside, his heart pounding in his ears and his rage gone. Not the hurt though, the pain is very much there because Jim knows, he _knows_ , and Seb knows Jim. He won’t love –and he cringes internally at the use of the word– and he won’t let himself be loved either. And Seb knows it will be used against him. He needs to get out. He should get out.

He can’t.

Because Seb knows, he _knows_ deep down to the bone and has known for a while that it’s too late.

He slumps on his side against the wall and rests his forehead against the cool tides, barely feeling the throb in his hands, and closes his eyes. Jim is coughing wetly beside him, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It’s too bloody late.

***

They don’t talk about it. Ever. It’s an unspoken rule, added up to the list right beneath talking about the past. Sebastian isn’t delusional, he knows Jim has him pretty much all figured out, but he can pretend.

_“Bloody bastard.”_

They don’t talk about it, but Jim’s voice mocking his words have been branded with icy fire on Sebastian’s ribs and carved with a sharp blade on his knuckles.

***

Jim’s split lip heals, the bruise on his cheek fades. Nobody asks what happened. Who would want to, anyway? The only people that care are the ones involved.

Behind the safety of the closed curtains of his bed, Jim dabs alcohol on the cuts on his thighs.  Those will heal, too. The cuts are already closed, they were fairly shallow, but he cleans them every night anyway, the sharp smell making him want to sneeze. He is careful about it, cleaning line by thin line. It used to hurt, the sting making his muscles tense and cramp up, his jaw twitching slightly. But the wounds are no longer tender, or the skin around them red and swollen.

It’s all so neat.

Jim wants to scream.

Even the cuts, made in a frenzy of pain and confusion and hurt and _why why whywhywhywhywhyWHY_ are neat, thin lines, made almost with mathematical precision. They run a few centimetres from his hip down his thigh, spaced every two millimetres approximately, like a ruler of sorts. Columns of proof that he is alive, that blood runs red through his veins, that he feels, _feels_... at least until the endorphins kick in.

And they should be the sign of his mind swirling a hundred thousand thoughts per second, tearing itself apart, like a snake eating its tail, but they are just neat columns that will fade completely in a few weeks.

It’s all so fucking neat.

It makes Jim want to die.

***

Some days, or rather, nights, he wonders how much more he can push. Jim sits in the Astronomy Tower, the cold night air raising goose bumps on his skin. He knows he should wear a jumper up here, but he always forgets to take one.

Unpredictable as ever, Seb has stayed. And it makes Jim want to push again and again and again. Because now he knows why his Basher stays. He could leave now that he has something on Jim. He has so many things, Jim has gotten sloppy around him, slipping. But Sebby has stayed and isn’t that oh so sweet?

He looks up at the stars, their names rolling off his tongue lazily as he thinks when it will be too much, whether his next push will be the last one. He shivers, but tells himself it’s the night air. Seb would have reminded him to – _no_.

He should have remembered to bring a jumper.

***

Insane. The fucking wait is making him go completely insane. Sebastian keeps waiting for the moment the endgame arrives, the deal breaker. Except he very much doubts it will be a deal breaker because it’s too late to leave now.

Isn’t it?

No, it is. It _is_. Because what happens then? Jim has all the threads and just needs to pull. Quidditch? Gone. Friends? What friends? And his dad, what about his dad?

He is nothing without Jim.

Fuck.

Seb takes a long drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing brighter as he inhales, fiery orange against the chill of the night. Shit, even his supply would be cut off without Jim. No one in his right mind would sell them to him. He can’t blame them. He knows what happens to those who disobey, to those who turn their backs on Moriarty. Hell, he is the one who hunts them down and beats them to a bloody pulp.

He was.

No, he still is. He still fucking _is_.

It’s cold outside, his breath a white cloud in the night air, just a shade lighter than the smoke. He leans back against the wall, shivering slightly. Should have remembered to bring a jumper because jesus _fuck_ that slight breeze is going to be the end of him. He jumps up and down a bit, the glowing tip of his fag tracing ephemeral orange shapes in the night. It’s no use, he is still freezing his balls off, so he smokes quickly, his throat burning slightly. No time for luxurious and contemplative cigarettes.

That’s what it comes to in the end, isn’t it? Time. Jim will wait until the moment is just right and then he will strike. And Seb will let him. He just has to endure the wait.

Just. As if it were that easy.

He is going fucking insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO GUYS THIS STORY WON 3RD PLACE IN THE FYTL POTTERLOCK CONTEST WHAAAAAAAAAATTT
> 
> sooo yeah go and check out the amazing cover they made for it plus a super nice review http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com/post/74660877731/
> 
> how do you link  
> scratch that  
> how do you technology
> 
> Anyway, as always, request shit to me I don't bite unless you want me to. Tumblr's sherlockintheshire. I live there, the outside world is a foreign place. I like my blanket forts with wifi. So yeah, inbox me.  
> Even if it's not a request and you just want to talk.  
> Or, you know, comment on this.
> 
> Kudos and comments make my heart go doki-doki (don't look at me like that, I have been watching anime lately okay)


	6. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me so long to update!
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I just wrote it and it's past 2 am. Haven't even proof-read it. It didn't end up well for the drafts i made before this one, if you know what I mean. So I'm posting this one as it is, before I start hating it and destroy it.
> 
> Read the tags carefully, please, because weirdness ahead.
> 
> But hey, no POV changes in this chapter! Consistency! Hooray!
> 
> Just a quick reminder that English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Not so sorry about what I'm doing to these characters which are most definitely not mine.

Seb has always been good at adapting.

He did when his Ma died, he did when they lost the house, he did the first time his father passed out in a drunken stupor. So he adapts to this too, whatever the hell ´this’ is.

Soon he’s back to normal with Jim. Still the good old violence. Spells are too easy to track. Jim has been working on something for that though, but it seems the magic at Hogwarts is still a tad too mysterious for him to override.

The only difference now is that he knows about Jim’s... situation. And Jim knows about his. The Slytherin has him by the balls. So Seb supposes it’s not much of a difference, really.

And so he adapts. He can deal with a bit more tension here or there.

***

There is a nagging feeling in Seb’s gut. Something’s off. With Jim. He can’t find him. He’s looking and looking and opening one door after the other, looking in every corridor, jumping from moving staircase to the next. And Jim is nowhere to be found. Fuck. _Fuck_. Seb wants to tear his hair out. He has to find Jim, he _has_ to. It’s important, necessary, vital. So he keeps running. His feet aren’t moving fast enough, he feels so slow. It almost seems as if the corridor in front of him were stretching, the end of it disappearing into the darkness. No. No. Stop. Breathe. Think. No, don’t stop, keep looking. Need to find him. Jim. Need to find Jim before it’s too late.

“Sebby.”

The voice is breathy, it resonates through the walls of the bathroom, and Sebastian turns around, looking for the source.

“Sebby...”

The whine is clearer this time and it comes with a tug to his trousers. Seb looks down to find Jim looking up at him, a pout on his lips. _Jim_. Oh thank god. Seb drops to his knees in relief onto the hard and cold bathroom tiles. There is a slight splashing sound. Seb frowns and looks down and the floor is covered in blood. Blood oozing from Jim’s thighs and forearms, from the corners of the boy’s mouth when he smiles.

“Stop.” Seb manages to say, his voice a hoarse whisper. He feels as if someone had their arm down his throat and were twisting his gut.

Jim laughs then, and more blood drips from his mouth and down his throat when he throws his head back.

“Oh, Sebby.” He says, wiping blood instead of tears from his eyes. “You’re going to have to _make me_.”

And Seb wants to say no, he wants to run away, take his bloodied clothes off, wash the crimson off his hands, but he can’t control his body. He’s screaming for it to stop as his hands wrap around Jim’s waist and the back of his neck, as his lips find the other boy’s in a bruising kiss that is more bite than anything else and he tastes copper, as his body lays down Jim onto the puddle of blood and settles on top of him, pushing, grinding, rutting. He feels Jim pulling him closer, wrapping one leg around him, using the other as leverage to push his hips up as he alternates moans and sentences straight out of a bad porno with high pitched hysterical giggles and Seb wants to stop stops stop _stop please stop_ but his body keeps pushing and pushing and pushing and-

 

Seb jerks awake. Or tries to, at least. But he can’t move his body. He can feel his pulse ringing in his ears, cold sweat breaking on his skin, raising goosebumps, his rapid breathing makes his throat hurt and- No. Calm down. Breathe slowly. Sleep paralysis is normal, just the brain making sure your body doesn’t actually do what it dreams it does. Calm down. _Breathe_.

After what feels like forever, Seb manages to sit up slowly. He pulls his knees up and buries his head in them.

Maybe he isn’t adapting so well after all.

***

The dreams, or rather, nightmares, are unpredictable enough to throw Seb off. He doesn’t sleep well anymore, never falling asleep deeply enough to actually rest. He wakes up drowsier than how he went to sleep and more often than not, certain parts of his anatomy have perked up without permission. And if there is something he doesn’t want to dwell on, is what the bleeding hell that means about him because it’s probably a whole new level of fucked up he most definitely does not want to know about.

He feels slow.

And he’s so tired. So very tired.

He gets through the day on caffeine and nicotine, practically chain-smoking almost two packets a day. It makes him feel vaguely ill, but it keeps him awake. Jim knows, of course, but doesn’t say anything. Seb can feel him staring though.

But he is too tired to snap at him and ask whether he’s grown a second nose. So very tired.

***

“Here, take this.”

A small vial appears in front of his eyes and Seb grabs it. It’s filled with some sort of purple liquid.

“What is it?” he asks, holding it up to the light before putting it in his pocket. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and looks up at Jim.

“Dreamless potion.” Jim answers, plucking the cigarette from Seb’s fingers and bringing it to his lips. Sebastian almost expects him to cough and sputter, not knowing how to smoke. Of course that was idiotic of him. Jim smokes as if he had been doing so his entire life, with nonchalant elegance. Seb has to force himself not to stare at Jim’s lips as they close around the filter and his cheeks hollow as he sucks in the smoke. Too many dangerous thoughts there. “I was going to wait until you came up with it, but I got bored.” Jim says before exhaling, tilting his head back a bit to blow the smoke up into the air. “You’re so _slow_.”

Sebastian digs out another cigarette and lights it. “Yes, well, my apologies, your highness.” He says, the cigarette moving up and down as it dangles from his lips. “But thank you.”

Jim shrugs. “Don’t thank me. You’re no good to me if you’re too tired.”

Sebastian nods. “I know. Still, thank you.”

Jim takes another drag and exhales slowly. Seb toys with the vial inside his pocket, feeling the smooth surface with his thumb. It’s stupid, but it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy and shit inside. Fucking hell. Way to think like a prepubescent girl.

They stay like that, smoking in silence through Seb’s packet one cigarette after the other. Jim eventually sits down next to Sebastian, scooting closer for warmth as the sun set and the air turns from comfortably chilly to really quite fucking cold, especially whenever the wind blows.

“You have to take it when you’re already in bed.” Jim instructs when he finishes his cigarette. Seb has just lit his last one and he nods as he takes a deep drag, the tip glowing.

Jim gets up then with a small jump, hands in his pockets. He waits until Sebastian has exhaled to step in front of him and lean down close.

“Night, night, Sebby.” He sing-songs softly in the older boy’s ear. Seb can feel his warm breath tickling his skin, chapped lips brushing his cheek ever so slightly. He freezes in place, whatever game Jim is playing at, Seb knows one wrong move could end it all. So he chooses not to move.

He can hear the tobacco burning as it turns to ash between his fingers.

Jim laughs softly and pulls back a bit then, just enough to press his thin mouth against Sebastian’s, fitting their lips gently in a brief and chaste kiss.

Neither of them close their eyes.

Jim disappears after a wink and Sebastian looks at him as he walks away, the already petite figure getting smaller and smaller. He only snaps out of it when the cigarette burns his fingers and he drops it with a curse.

 _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are so wonderful I want to dance with them while singing "Cheek to Cheek" like Fred Astaire with Ginger Rogers in Top Hat. That's how much I love them.
> 
> As always my tumblr is http://sherlockintheshire.tumblr.com/ for updates and any questions you may have. Or comments. Or anything, really.


	7. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I keep disappearing on you guys! What can I say, uni is kicking my arse.
> 
> This chapter has ctually been beta'd! The wonderful Travellingthestars went over it really quickly for me because she is the best girlfriend ever. Go read her fluffy stuff :)
> 
> Also she pointed out that the dreamless potion in the past chapter sounded dodgy because of the "you have to take it in bed" thing. Dreamless potion and sleeping draughts are very fast-working (kind of like anaesthesia), so that is the only reason. The potion isn't drugged (although Jim was most certainly tempted) and no, it doesn't have viagra or somethign like that to give Sebastian wet dreams (this is what she meant by it sounding dodgy).
> 
> This may be my longest AN yet! Don't worry, just the usual reminder that Enlgish isn't my first language and that the characters aren't mine.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sebastian is just so much fun to tease, really. The way his strong jaw clenches every time Jim calls him ‘Sebby’. Oh how much he hates that nickname. Jim knows of course, he likes winding him up. He likes it so much. He’s playing with fire, really, but that’s just his thing, isn’t it?

Because wouldn’t it be simply delicious to make Seb’s control crumble? He came close, oh so close, that damned day in the bathroom. Jim loved pressing down on the bruises to feel the sting of sweet pain right until they faded. He got a taste of his darling Basher and he wants more.

But Sebastian is just _so slow_.

If he’d just make a move, already. Jim already owns him in every single way, this is just a natural progression. Complete and absolute dominance and possession. Now if the older boy would just see it and stop fighting it...

He’s scared, Jim knows. Sebastian knows him as much as anyone ever has, he knows Jim will destroy him. But then again, wasn’t that the plan all along? It’s just a matter of making the ride _fun_.

Because that is all this is.

Pure, twisted, and utterly fucked-up fun.

***

Jim gets tired of waiting, so he kisses Sebastian.

It’s disappointing, really, utterly anticlimactic. He supposes he has too many expectations that somewhere along the way got engraved into his brain. Mainstream media, books, songs, Shakespeare’s goddamned sonnets... Utterly ridiculous. There was no spark, no electricity or fireworks. Just the smell of smoke and the feeling of dry lips.

Jim is disappointed.

He is disgusted by being disappointed.

It’s just so _ordinary_.

***

“I’m going to kill you.” He says after one incredibly uneventful week.

They are sitting on one of the stone benches in one of the courtyards. It’s cloudy, the kind of day where the sky is just an endless shade of light grey and makes you squint for no good fucking reason. Jim abhors it.

Sebastian doesn’t even blink, he simply leans back. “Maybe I should kill you first then.”

Jim laughs, because _really_. “Oh, honey, you’d still love me with my hands around your throat.”

Seb shrugs with a self-deprecating grin. He looks about to say something, but then shakes his head slightly, the smile still on his lips.

It’s infuriating, Jim can’t read him anymore. It’s lovely. It makes Jim want to beat him bloody until he spills all the contents of his mind.

“So would you.” Sebastian says after a while.

Jim gets up and stands between Sebastian’s legs. He reaches over and grabs a handful of blonde hair, tugs and pulls to the point of pain, wrenches the boy’s head back. Sebastian holds his gaze, his pupils dilating slightly, his breath barely hitching. Barely.

“Wouldn’t you love that.” Jim says with a cruel smile before leaving.

***

It’s a haunting thought, hurting and being hurt in return.

Jim can’t stop thinking about it. He imagines a thousand and one scenarios. There are just so many ways to inflict pain upon a person. He could break all the bones in Seb’s body, see which ones make him scream the most. He could take one of his blades and start cutting and cutting and cutting. Shallow at first, perhaps not even breaking the skin. Let Sebastian feel the cold metal, draw and write with the sharp tip along the boy’s torso. Let welts rise before pressing just a bit more and cutting through the first few layers of skin. He imagines the cut slowly turning red with blood, coagulating before spilling. The next cut will be deeper, a quick slash. He knows how it works, how the blood creates tiny spheres before dripping. How much would it take to make Sebastian scream? He wouldn’t be able to hide his body’s response, muscles tightening involuntarily. But screaming? Oh, it would be so wonderful.

And magic offers so many possibilities too! The _cruciatus_ curse is boring, _so_ overdone. But what if he could keep Sebastian alive as he carves his heart out and holds it in his hands, still beating?

Sometimes he imagines tying Seb up, blindfolding him. He imagines leaving him alone, unable to move or see. He wonders how long it would take him to go completely and absolutely insane, to beg for Jim to come back, for anything other than the deafening silence that his own voice leaves after he’s hoarse from crying.

Jim thinks of breaking Sebastian and rebuilding him piece by piece only to break him again and again and again.

But he also thinks of being hurt.  He imagines Seb is the one holding the blade. He thinks of being bound and gagged, of angry welts being scratched down his back. He thinks of whips and canes. He wonders if the warmth of blood gushing down his face would feel nice on a cold day if Sebastian broke his nose.

It’s a vicious circle, impossible to break. The fantasies swirl in his brain and Jim presses down on bruises that are no longer there.

***

They fight.

Neither of them really knows how it starts. Whatever it is, it’s just an excuse. They have both been itching for it. It has been so terribly quiet lately, so fucking quiet. There is nothing to do. It’s excruciating.

And so, when Jim ends up with bruised ribs again and Seb with a bloody lip, when they are both panting, punching, scratching, insulting... it’s so liberating. Jim’s mind is singing, caught up in the frenzy of fists and kicks and ragged breaths. He can’t pinpoint when fighting turns into pushing each other against the walls, stone digging into their backs as teeth dig into lips. Jim’s head hits the wall behind him and a knee presses up between his. His nails leave angry red welts on Sebastian’s neck.

There will be bruises everywhere in the morning.

Now this, _this_ , is much more like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed urls! You can find me now at natheichou.tumblr.com :) we can talk about psychopaths there and you can leave suggestions and requests in my ask! (I also draw, in case you want to check that out and commission me because I am a poor student)
> 
> Comments and kudos make me happier than captured titans to Hanji (if you got that reference I will love you forever uwu)

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to leave a suggestion or prompt, my tumblr is http://sherlockintheshire.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. They make me go all goey inside, like the center of a cookie.


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